All My Darkest Dreaming
by Nahkriin
Summary: Set immediately after the season 7 finale. Dexter struggles to heal Deb's wounds while trying to cope with the weight of responsibility. Things can't remain so utterly broken, but can they ever be whole again? Is it possible to change the nature of the beast?
1. Who is Deb now? Who am I?

**Author's Note**

**Just a word of warning; I really, really suck at following through and finishing the stories I start. So I haven't yet decided whether I want to continue this story, or if I think it stands alone as a one-shot. It's largely dependant on the feedback I get and if I have the time, energy, and willingness to continue. **

**Also, if you don't like the pairing of Dexter and Deb, get the $# % outta here. This story's not for you. I'm all about dat pairing, so scram. **

**Furthermore, yeah, I realize the editing in this is kind of oddly spaced out overall, but I'm too lazy to tidy it up, unfortunately. Despite working towards a degree in English, I have this weird resistance to proper indentation and stuff like that. What can I say; I'm a dreamer, I let my brain hang loose.**

**Annnd I should think it goes without saying, but this story will deal with major spoilers from the ending of season 7. Without further ado...**

_I don't know how to fix this. _

Deb's grip on his arm, dull and listless, reminded him that this was all real. Silence engulfed the space between himself and his sister, a distance of mere physical inches.

_She's right here...so why do I feel so far away? _

Despite the boom of fireworks and the exuberant crowd that seemed almost suffocating, the vibrant colors splayed against the dark and empty canvas of the night sky with every rippling wave of celebration, the noise seemed entirely...fleeting. Secondary. Background noise, weighed down and drowned out by the magnitude of everything he was feeling.

For the first time, Dexter Morgan was at an utter loss.

_I pride myself on control...I always maintain order of some kind. Things tumble out of my grasp, I pick the pieces up and put them back in place. I always have an answer; a back-up plan, another option, something to save me from losing it all. Even when things go to shit, I get back up and fix it. Sometimes it takes time, but..._

With a slow turn of his head, he shifted his gaze towards his sister, his eyes struggling in vain to meet hers as she stared off into space, silent and unknowable. He felt his heart beat wildly in his chest, surges of raw feeling threatening to take over. Eager to render him vulnerable to this terrifying new reality. Just barely, he stood his ground. The facade of calm control was all he had left to offer Deb, after all.

_...But I don't know how to even begin to fix this. _

LaGuerta was dead. Deb had shot her, right in the chest. She was with Estrada now, right where Dexter had been born in blood. Deb had chosen him over her. For an all too real instant, Dexter hadn't been sure what she would choose. And so he had surrendered control, completely. He had put Deb through enough. Enough to cripple her past the point of recovery, yet she stayed at his side. With all that had happened, all that had been taken from the both of them, she remained.

_The one constant in my life._

"Deb..." Dexter spoke at last, his words heavy with exhaustion as the noise of the people around them and the fireworks blaring above faded into the background. Cautiously, he turned to face her, weariness etched across his face. After a moment of lingering silence, she managed to move her eyes up to meet his, the usual fire that burned in them nowhere to be seen. He fumbled for words, but none seemed right. He simply returned her blank gaze, searching for a glimpse of emotion to latch on to, anything at all.

All he saw was a blank slate. And that frightened him, more than anything else.

_I can't lose anyone else. Especially not Deb. I just...can't._

"Deb, I'm sorry..." Dexter shook his head, honest, real emotion rocking his voice. Deb's eyes flickered for the briefest of moments, but quickly retained their vacant stare, just as unreadable as before. He sighed, closing his eyes, trying as best he could to offer his sister some measure of comfort, of assurance...anything.

_I could really use your help right about now, Harry._

Yet his voice of reason was nowhere to be found. Ever since Dexter realized his 'dark passenger' was a simple means to an end, a coping mechanism to justify his actions, Harry had faded into the distant recesses of his mind. The strict code he had instilled within his orphaned foster child reduced to a far away echo, Dexter was left with a hollow clarity of exactly what he was. A killer.

_But not Deb. Deb is different. _

Deb had killed to protect him. Because of his desperate need to satisfy his primal, deeply ingrained urge to kill, Deb had sacrificied part of her humanity. Part of her _own _code, tarnished; virtues she had held dear now warped, twisted, painted in a cold shade of blood.

Dexter had never known that part of himself. It had been snuffed out, far too early, leaving him broken. A fractured child with a thirst for blood. A thirst that had taken hold of his brother, a thirst that had led him to commit vicious, meticulous murders. Dexter had considered himself above killing simply for killing's sake, but hadn't that been what he had done all his life?

_All my kills, masked under the convenient guise of 'justice'...I was only fooling myself. _

Swallowing his wounded self-concept, he returned his attention to his sister, bringing his hands up to rest on her shoulders in an attempt to offer some sense of comfort, of reassurance. He almost expected her to recoil, to scream and fight and blame him for everything, to hate him for bringing it all to this point. But she remained still and quiet, and if anything, that only served to worry him more.

"I know..." he began, fumbling over his words, struggling to piece together his fragmented thoughts. "I know that I have no right to say this, not after everything you've sacrificed for me, but...I love you, sis." her shoulders stiffened in his grip, shaking slightly as her eyes teared up ever so slightly, the first sign of life since she wept and cradled LaGuerta's body.

Dexter's eyes searched Deb's desperately, anxiety wracking his body in waves as he struggled to continue, to find the strength within himself to give voice to all the twisting thoughts that seemed to strangle him from within. "I'm so...so sorry for everything." he paused, reigning in his senses. "I don't deserve you, I don't deserve everything you've done for me. I've just...I've taken so much away from you, just to satisfy my twisted needs, and I hate that I've done that, but I can't take it back. I can only..." he paused, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I can only try to change from here on out. I...I can never make this right. I know that." his eyes softened as he scanned his sister's face for any sign of emotion, struggling to identify the minute twitches and minor contortions of her pursed lips as she listened.

"I've done enough damage." His breathing grew slightly ragged, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut, the weight of everything crashing down on him at once. All the suffering, all the anguish, all the death...for the first time, he truly felt it, deep in his bones. And it was all he could do not to break down, not to howl out in agony, not to lose control completely.

"...Just...let me know what I can do. Anything. I'd do anything for you, Deb." his eyes flashed open, catching a glimpse of sheer emotion in Deb's eyes before she reeled it back in, clearing her throat quietly.

"...We should...go check in with Angel." She managed to croak out hoarsely, the quiet timbre of her voice startling Dexter. She didn't sound at all like herself. Sighing once more, he closed his eyes, nodding slightly in agreement. Deb was right. If they didn't make an appeareance at Angel's retirement party, they might draw suspicion. Granted, all the evidence planted at the scene leaned towards a shootout between Estrada and LaGuerta, but it would still be a bit...unusual if the two were absent along with LaGuerta, especially after her botched attempt at unveiling the truth of Dexter's identity.

Giving his sister once last, sorrowful look, he turned back towards the crowd and began to walk forward, the gentle sensation of Deb's arm wrapped lightly around his own grounding him firmly in reality, the haze that had threatened to smother him from before lifting, slowly but surely, giving way to the cold clarity of the changed reality around him.

It had been hard to face Angel and the others, knowing what they didn't and acting as though nothing was wrong. The party had simmered down by the time Dexter and Deb had arrived, with only a few stragglers remaining; Quinn flirted drunkenly with Jamie, while Angel eyed the two dangerously, his unspoken warning apparently failing to reach his intoxicated former partner. Masuka stumbled around drunkenly, laughing, clad in nothing but a large diaper.

"Don't ask." Angel sighed upon being fixed with a confused, inquisitive look courtesy of Dexter.

Despite everything, Dexter donned his social disguise easily, slipping into light conversation here and there and partaking in a few drinks with the drunken Quinn and laughing Jamie. Deb was quiet, smiling when she needed to, uttering a few simple responses to conversation here and there, yet her eyes never left Dexter as he moved from person to person, no signs of his inner turmoil apparent whatsoever.

Not long after arriving, the few remaining party-goers started to filter out, aside from Masuka and Quinn, who were far too drunk, both men sprawled out on the floor in awkward heaps of intoxication. Casting a quick glance towards Deb, Dexter took his chance, striding over towards his sister, only to be stopped half-way by Angel's hand clamping on to his shoulder. Nearly jumping, he masterfully regained control of his senses, smiling at the soon-to-be ex-cop.

"Hey, Dex..." Angel smiled affably, and he couldn't help but feel a stab of regret race through his chest at the knowledge of Angel's ex-wife's sad fate. "I just...wanted to apologize about Maria, again." Dexter stared blankly down at the floor for a moment, avoiding looking over at Deb.

"That's really not necessary, but...thank you." he smiled back at the kindly older man, who patted him affectionately on the shoulder before continuing. "I mean, I can understand her feelings, knowing how close she was with Doakes, but still. She had no right to accuse you, not with the evidence she found. I'm sorry she put you through that."

Dexter nodded slowly, growing more and more anxious to break away from the conversation. "Ah, thank you, but...I'd prefer not to think about it, and I really should get back home..." Angel chuckled, squeezing Dexter's shoulder one last time before pulling away and backing up a few inches.

"To be honest, I was hoping that she'd come to the party, maybe make things right, but I guess she's not ready. Oh well. I'm sure she'll come around." Angel smiled softly at Dexter, who blinked, nodding. With a slight wave, he quickly turned to make his way back to Deb, who sat by herself, staring blankly at the ground.

Sighing, he slowly extended his arm, smiling warmly, softly down at his sister as he offered to help her up. She just shook her head, fixing him with a familiarly fiery look as she got up of her own accord and quickly walked off, crossing her arms as she stormed off, trudging along in the sand.

_Uh-oh._

"Deb...!" he called out meekly, unsure of exactly what he had done to piss his sister off this time. Of course, he could easily throw together a comprehensive list of his recent failures, but something in particular seemed to have gotten to her just now. Was it his conversation with Angel...?

"Deb..." he murmured as he caught up with her, briefly casting his gaze off to the side, the moon illuminating the ocean beautifully, the serene nature of night and the current emptiness of the beach at once soothing and haunting. He turned his attention back to Debra, cautiously bringing his hand up to her back in a meager effort to offer solace of some sort.

"Don't...! Just...fucking...don't." she flinched as the tips of his fingers met her back, her body starting to shake as she fixed him with a fierce, unrelenting glare, an all-too familiar look as of late. Dexter stared at her blankly, glad to see her fiesty spirit rekindled, though unsure where this was going.

A moment of awkward, tense silence passed, before she shook her head, struggling to fight back the tears rising in her eyes. "I just...I just fucking watched as you talked to him like nothing was wrong, and...I don't...fucking know how you do it, I really fucking don't...!" her eyebrows twisted upward, a pained expression contorting her features as she bit her lip, her voice crackling with the depths of barely restrained emotion.

"Deb, I'm s-" before he could finish, he was cut off, Deb's palm placed squarely around his lips as she leaned in, lips trembling as tears slowly broke free, trailing lightly down her cheeks, bathed in moonlight.

"Don't...fucking apologize...! It's too late for that...Jesus fucking christ, I...I don't know what I _am_ anymore, Dex...! I don't fucking know what _this _is, I don't...I don't know what I'm supposed to do! Tell me!" the tears fell easily, and she fell against Dexter's chest, her grip on his mouth loosening as her hand fell limply to the side. Trembling, she buried her face into his shirt, sobbing and whimpering.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes, leaning his head down so that his chin rested atop her hair. "...It's okay to hate me." he murmured, his voice quiet, honest. The trembling calmed, and slowly, she lifted her face away from his shirt, now damp with tears. Looking up at him with a hurt expression, he slowly opened his eyes to meet her own, and in that moment, he felt it.

He felt the depth of an emotion he had never before truly experienced. Something he couldn't quite put into words; something foreign to him. Something he had longed for, but never known how to claim as his own. A sense of belonging, perhaps, but something more than that. Something that filled him with a unique sense of dread, a dread that both scared and enthralled him. His breathing hitched in his throat as he stared down at Deb, the light from the moon bathing her features in an unearthly glow, her beauty amplified, made truly astonishing. Suddenly, he _saw_ her. He saw everything that he had denied, and everything she had fought against, accepted, then refused upon learning the truth of what he was.

But it was there. It persisted. A longing that scared him beyond belief. Was that her heart he felt beating against his chest, or was it his own? Did it even matter?

She didn't hate him. She couldn't. He could see that now, just as he could see everything slipping out of his control. But there was no more room for doubt. No longer. He _owed _her. And so he surrendered.

Without another word, he leaned in, closing his eyes as his lips tenderly met her own. She jumped, startled, her trembling returning for a moment before she returned the kiss.

The tender kiss continued for a moment longer, before he broke it off, smiling softly, his eyes searching Deb's desperately, as if for assurance. As if to convince himself that none of this was wrong. Tears of a different sort slowly trickled from her eyes as she returned his smile, sniffling. Opening his mouth to say something, he was quickly cut off as Deb practically lurched forward, snaking her tongue deep into his mouth, her eyebrows curling up as she, too, surrendered.

Dexter's heart beat wildly, conflicting emotions reduced to a dull throb in the back of his temple as Deb hungrily explored his mouth, her deeply powerful yearning astounding him. She pushed forward, managing to knock him back into the sand as she lay atop him, whimpering into his lips as she desperately deepened the kiss, fresh tears dripping softly onto his cheeks as she embraced him shakily.

Pausing, she broke off the kiss slowly, hesitantly. As if she was afraid to stop for so much as an instant. As if this feeling would go away.

"I love you..." she murmured, weakly, blinking as she stared down into Dexter's eyes. He took a moment to respond, simply staring back, fighting against every logical part of himself, squashing down every inch of doubt.

"I love you too..." he hesitated, closing his eyes, the sensation of Deb's tears falling softly to his cheeks oddly comforting. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Deb nodded, shaking her head, trembling as she buried her face against his neck, kissing it softly, needingly. As he lay there, staring up into the night sky, the stars seemed to sparkle a little brighter. Or maybe things were just falling into place.

_Maybe I can fix this, after all. _


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note**

**To my guest reviewer, Sita Moonlight, dug0223, Alida, michelle, maddie, and Riotgrrrljaz; thank you for the reviews! I really do appreciate it. **

**I'm still trying to decide on what sort of direction I want to take this story in. I'd like to stay true to the series, of course, and I have a few ideas kicking around in my head that I'm thinking of pursuing. Updates might be a little slow for the time being, and I can't promise consistent chapter lengths until I figure out where exactly I want to take this. I want to avoid filler content as much as I can and offer up a satisfying read. This chapter ended up being more filler-y than I would've liked, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless. I promise to actually get the ball rolling next chapter.**

**And don't shy away from critiquing what I write, either; if there's some aspect you think could use some work or revision, feel free to let me know. Particularly with Deb. She's a complex character, so writing for her can be a little tricky at times. She can be extremely vulnerable, but at the same time, she's one of the strongest female characters I've come across in any series. **

**One last thing. Not really here or there, but I thought I'd share where I got the title for this fic from. I know that Dexter is based on "Darkly Dreaming Dexter", the novel by Jeff Lindsay, but I drew influence from a song by David Sylvian titled "Darkest Dreaming". I was trying to think of a suitable name for the story, and it popped into my head. The song, in my mind, conveys the perfect tone for the atmosphere I'd like to establish with this story. Give it a listen if you'd like. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I just thought I'd throw it out there. *shrugs***

* * *

_There are times when all the broken things are all that really matter._

_When everything that's crumbled away is the only foundation to keep you rooted to the ground._

_...Is now one of those times?_

_Now, when everything I've ever known - or thought I knew - simply fades to black?_

_Where do I go from here?_

Darkness. Darkness, illuminated with but the faintest traces of light, snaking inside like speckled illusions piercing the veil of black that seemed to unfold, at once endless and fragile. Light poured in from the outside, reflected off the water of the pool just below, dipped in moonlit beauty, taunting him with the simplicity of it all. Simple, natural, thoughtless beauty. A tempting cradle, delicately lulling him into a slumber he wasn't sure he'd wake from. How could he? After his world had crashed, stumbled to right itself, and been flipped so utterly, so completely and totally? Left spiraling out of his control, into directions that frightened and captivated him. Silent whispers of forbidden longings, and utter vacancy of the unknown...mysteries of the self that he had never, ever imagined having to unravel, let alone face.

And should he? More importantly, now that it had come to this...how could he afford not to at least try?

Not just for his own sake.

_For hers. _

Closing his eyes as if to combat the thoughts blooming in his mind, so bright and yet so painfully _piercing_, Dexter brought his knees closer to his chest, his back straining against his apartment door. His body tensed as he squeezed his legs tightly to his torso. Part of him wished the darkness would just take him. Wished that some force outside of himself would render him immune to the twisting, writhing, _exploding _thoughts and images and fucking _words_ that filled him with warmth and cold and fear and love and all the other things he just couldn't fucking identify.

_I am Dexter Morgan. Serial killer. Sociopath. A chameleon, blending effortlessly into society. A hungry predator, a ruthless, efficient stalker of prey. _

_And a confused, frightened, little boy._

He tried to calm his racing heart, a heavy sense of exhaustion seeking to ease him into the sleep he dreaded. Surely sleep would bring with it dreams, and dreams were something he couldn't afford. Not now. Not with his grip on the _real _so absolutely ruined. He didn't need the added torture of his subconscious, blugeoning him with the weight of what he felt, or _thought _he felt.

_Is any of this really okay...?_

_What comes next?_

* * *

"Stop...just...fucking stop!"

Deb's voice was panicked, filled with a startled, sudden realization. The reality of the two of them, kissing, touching, longing for one another, seemed to hit hard and fast and unrelentingly. She gasped for air, stumbling off Dexter, her eyes flickering as she bent at the knees, her tears falling to the soft sand blanketing the shore. "Wh...at are we doing...? What t...he fu...ck is this...?!" her words seemed to tumble from her lips as she choked back tears, nothing but broken, choppy syllables.

Eyes widening, heart pumping, Dexter slowly rose, speckles of golden sand falling off his back as he stood, fighting the growing sense of disorientation that seized him. He looked towards Deb, vacantly, questioningly. Simply waiting for some validation of self. Waiting to determine if any of this was even real, because he sure as hell couldn't make sense of the world around him anymore. His sister slowly turned, shoulders quaking as she crossed her arms against her chest as if to protect herself, taking a couple of steps back, shaking her head. A pained smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her eyes squinted, wet and heavy with tears.

"I'm not sure if...if I'm just confused...if I'm fucking angry, or stupid, or if I'm...I dunno, just, fucking _broken _after all...!" Deb took in a deep breath, a futile attempt to calm herself as she wavered, her words quivering as she managed to bring her eyes up to meet his. Dexter felt as if he was melting, watching her; as if the world around him was mere illusion, no more real than the facade he erected to ward off the outside, to prevent others from getting too close. Or maybe what he felt was something else entirely. He didn't know...he couldn't even begin to wrap himself around the thin understanding he possessed for every sense wracking his body, and Deb knew it. He could see it in her eyes. He could see the same conflict, grounded in a better sense of self, a self she had molded and pieced back together after having watched it break before her very eyes too many times to count.

_Everything she's known, everything she's ever held dear...none of it was lasting or true. And I want to be there for her. I know that much. I want to help. I want to make things right. But can I? Is that what she wants?_

_Does she __**know**__ what she wants? Hell...do I? _

"...Guh!" Deb growled, guttural, primal, bleeding sorrow and a million other emotions straight through her teeth, and in that instant, Dexter was in awe.

_How does she do it?_

_How does she feel, so...so __**deeply**__?_

_How can she let it show like that...?_

"Hey. Hey..." Dexter's head bobbed uselessly, his mouth clicking open and closed as he sought words, abandoning his futile quest a moment later. He walked to her as she shook, and when he reached her, embraced her. She shook in his arms, and wept, and remained just as confused and broken and angry and hurt. But nothing needed to be said. Not yet.

If there was one thing he had learned, through every trial he had endured, through every relationship, through watching those around him and through his very own changes, it was that words weren't enough. They never were. And so he held her close, and he closed his eyes, and he let her trembling die down and he waited until her sniffling had been reduced to little gasps of nothings that sputtered aimlessly from her shaking, delicate lips. And only when all was silent, and for a moment, almost calm, did he open his mouth to speak, to offer something, anything, to ease her soul, so wounded and vulnerable and _open_ that it was painful to witness.

"We can't do this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I...I know." Dexter offered, and Deb looked up with eyes bursting at the seams, emotions pouring out that she simply let fall, every raw inch of feeling naked, visible, and earnest. She wanted his help. She needed it. That he could at least offer _something _was enough to push him to continue. "I don't have any answers. I don't have closure, I don't have ideas. I don't know where we go from here." He looked at her, and before she could look away, brought his hands towards her own, clenching them firmly, reasurringly. She paused, looking him right in the eyes, and all was still.

"But...we'll make it through. We always do, right...? Let's just...wait it out. Things will get better. The pieces will fall into place...I'm sure of it." He smiled, softly, projecting a confidence he wasn't entirely sure was warranted. But he knew it was necessary. Deb smiled back, a small, crooked smile, tiny and fragile, but there nonetheless. And that was good enough for him.

"I'll walk you home, and...I'll go back to the apartment." Dexter nodded, as if reassuring himself that the world as he knew it was still structured the same, physically. Despite the doubt that lingered within, he knew that it was he and Deb who were different, now. That it wasn't the world around them caving in. Only them. "And tomorrow..." he gulped, looking away for a brief moment before returning his attention to her, squeezing her hands in his own as he closed his eyes. "...Tomorrow, we deal with whatever it is we have to deal with." he flashed his eyes open to search her own, making sure she understood his implications.

_What happened with LaGuerta was no dream. That much I know. _

She looked away and closed her eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath, collecting her senses before nodding. And so they walked, alone under the guise of night and the illusion of silence, hand in hand.

* * *

_And here I am._

Dexter groaned, wincing a little as he brought himself up off the ground, shaking his head as though it was enough to clean up the muddled thoughts and everything else cluttering his mind. His body ached, sore and heavy from it all. But he could feel a certain calm, a small seedling of hope and, perhaps, order, blooming within. Despite the tempest still raging inside, he felt a growsing sense of ease. A rekindled purpose. His resolve bolstered and renewed. In the silence of his apartment, left with his slowly clearing thoughts and a growing clarity of self, maybe he was doing some healing of his own. Maybe, just maybe, this - _all _of this - was something that could be made right.

A small smile lit up his face as he flicked the lights on, flooding the small, familiar apartment with it, bringing everything out into the open. Everything was the same, after all. What had changed was merely...interior.

And then it all came crashing down.

Numbly, eyes wide and disbelieving, he walked to the plant situated right atop his desk, right next to his computer. "No..." he murmured, his jaw mindlessly agape as he brought his fingers down, trailing them shakily along the note attached at the side, a pleasent, familiar scent wafting off the plant and the textured paper, the delicate font enscribed upon it sending a cold ripple of utter numbness through his core.

_**Dexter,**_

_**I forgive you. **_

_**Hope to see you soon. **_

_**- Hannah**_


End file.
